Divergence
by Sara Wolfe
Summary: They're fighting fate. An AU of s2's "Michael".
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This isn't the first SGA fic I've written, but it's probably the strangest. Inspired by a prompt on the Fall Fandom Free-For-All.

**Divergence**

He woke up to the sound of beeping.

He blinked, feeling like his eyes were coated with sand, and then he groaned in pain as a bright light above him sent a sharp pang stabbing through his head. Instinctively, he tried to raise a hand to block out the light, but he could only raise his hand a few inches before it stopped.

Experimentally, he jerked his arm, wincing as something tightened around his wrist, biting into his skin. He jerked his arm again, harder, and the sharp movement sent something crashing to the ground, nearby.

"Hey!" a startled voice yelped from behind him, outside of his range of vision. "Hey, stop that! Dr. Beckett!"

He could hear rapid footsteps coming closer, and then a man's face loomed over him, a frown filling his features.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" the man asked, sternly.

""I can't move my hands," he protested, giving his arm another hard jerk.

"Aye, that's because you're restrained," the man told him. "We had to tie your hands down so that you couldn't rip your IV lines out or tear out any stitches. But, I don't think that's necessary now that you're awake, do you?"

Bending, the man started to loosen the restraints on his wrists, only to be stopped by a sudden movement from near the doorway.

"Dr. Beckett," a new voice broke in, "I don't think you should be doing that."

A second man stepped into his view, a hard, angry expression fixed on his face. There was a weapon very visible in the holster on the man's shoulder, and his hand rested on the butt of the gun, warningly.

"Maybe you should leave the restraints on, Doctor," he repeated, coldly.

"Not to worry, Lieutenant," Beckett said, resuming his actions. "I don't think Lieutenant Kenmore is going anywhere."

"Kenmore," he said, quietly, testing it out.

When he repeated the name, louder, both men looked over at him.

"Excuse me?" Beckett said.

"You called me Kenmore," he said, slowly. "Is that my name?"

A sympathetic look flashed across Beckett's face, but then he was all business, again.

"Aye, you're Lieutenant Michael Kenmore," the other man told him. "You were injured, took a bump on the head, which is how you ended up here."

"And where is here?" Michael asked, curiously, as he pushed himself up in the bed, careful of the IV lines Beckett had warned him about.

"You're in the infirmary," Beckett answered. "On Atlantis," he elaborated, when Michael shot him a confused look.

"Atlantis," Michael echoed, trying to jog something in his memory, but then he shook his head in frustration. "I'm sorry," he said, regretfully. "I just don't remember anything."

"That's all right, lad," Beckett said, his voice comforting. "It'll come back to you in time."

He'd had his back to Michael for several seconds and when he turned back around, there was a syringe with a long needle in his hands. Michael eyed the other man, suspiciously.

"What's that?" he demanded, warily.

"It's insulin," Beckett told him, as he inserted the needle into a port on the IV line and depressed the plunger.

Michael watched, fascinated, as the pale liquid moved through the tubing to pool in the hanging bag. From there, it dripped into the line going into the back of his hand.

"You're diabetic," Beckett continued. "The insulin helps to regulate your blood sugar. And this," he added, brandishing another syringe, "is something to help you sleep."

"I'm not tired," Michael protested, automatically.

"But you do need your rest," Beckett countered, firmly.

He injected the liquid into the IV bag and as it dripped through the tubing into his veins, Michael could feel his eyes growing heavy. He felt as though he was floating away, but he instinctively fought the urge to lose consciousness. Seeing his agitation, Beckett settled down in a chair beside his bed, squeezing his hand, reassuringly.

"It's all right to fall asleep, lad," Beckett said, his voice low and soothing. "You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you."

Reassured by the man's quiet words and the warm hand covering his own, Michael closed his eyes and gave up the fight, allowing darkness to overtake him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The next time he woke up, there was a dark-haired man sitting in the chair by his bed, and after a moment, Michael realized that it wasn't Beckett. Blinking to clear his blurry vision, he took in the man's dark clothing that was very similar to the uniform worn by the guard posted at the door. When he noticed that he was being watched, the man gave him an easy grin.

"Hey, Lieutenant," he greeted, his voice cheerful like Beckett's. "Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I think," he said, hesitantly. Studying the man, he asked, "Who are you?"

"Sorry," the man apologized, an abashed look on his face. "Doc warned us you might not remember. I'm Major Evan Lorne; you're on my Gate team."

"Gate team?" Michael echoed, curiously.

"The Stargate," Lorne clarified, but his brief attempt at an explanation only left Michael even more confused.

"You said that I was on a team?" he asked, instead, hoping to learn something that made at least a little bit of sense.

"My Gate team," Lorne reiterated. "Along with Lieutenant Laura Cadman and Dr. David Parrish."

"Talking about us behind our backs?" a new voice spoke up from the doorway.

A few seconds later, a woman in the same uniform as Lorne appeared at the foot of his bed, followed by a man in a light blue shirt. The man gave him a nervous grin and a quick wave, and the woman reached down and gave his foot a quick squeeze.

"Hey, Mike," she greeted. "How's that bump on the head?"

"It hurts a little bit," he admitted, and then he frowned in confusion. "Mike," he repeated, dubiously.

"It's short for Michael," the man, presumably Parrish, told him. "It's your name," he added, hesitantly.

"I know that," Michael said. "It's just – Mike?" he repeated, incredulously. No matter how many times he heard it, it just didn't sound like him.

"Well, we could always call you Squirt like your older sister does," Cadman said, cheerfully, ignoring Lorne's exasperated glare, "but I figured you'd like Mike, better."

"Mike is fine," he decided.

"So, when does Beckett say you'll be released?" Parrish asked, politely, and Michael jerked his shoulders in a wordless shrug.

"Not for at least another day," a familiar voice broke in, and Michael looked over to see Beckett coming over, a syringe in his hand.

"More insulin?" Michael asked, warily, remembering how the stuff had burned going in last time, making his skin itch.

"More insulin," Beckett confirmed, with a sympathetic smile.

He injected the medicine into a port on the IV line and Michael winced in anticipation, resisting the urge to scratch at the site where the IV was taped into the back of his hand.

"Well," Lorne said, after Beckett had left, "We should probably let you get some rest. See you later, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," Michael said, as Lorne stood up from his chair. "Thanks for stopping by."

"See you later, Mike," Cadman said, reaching out and ruffling his hard with an easy grin that Michael couldn't help but respond to in kind.

He watched the trio leave, Parrish giving him a quick wave before he ducked out the door.

"They seem nice," he commented, after they were gone.

"That they are," Beckett confirmed. "You're on a good team, Lieutenant."

"Could – could you call me Michael?" he asked, hesitantly. Protocol aside, his rank just sounded strange coming from the other man.

"Michael it is," Beckett said, cheerfully. "And you can call me Carson."

"Carson," Michael said, testing it out. "You're not going to give me more of that stuff that makes me fall asleep, are you?" he asked, suddenly, remembering the last time Carson had injected him with insulin.

"Not this time," Carson told him. "Do you want anything to read?" he asked. "I've got some books in my office."

"Actually," Michael asked, "I was wondering if you could answer some questions."

"If I can," Carson offered, taking the seat Lorne had vacated.

"Tell me about myself?" Michael requested, hesitantly.

"My pleasure," Carson said, smiling.


End file.
